


Good Coat and a Short Friend

by FatlockFills



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fatlock, Feeding, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Porn Without Plot, Smut, Softness, Weight Gain, idk - Freeform, pudgy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-05
Updated: 2014-09-05
Packaged: 2018-02-16 05:05:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2256906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FatlockFills/pseuds/FatlockFills





	Good Coat and a Short Friend

The door to 221b closed behind them and John pressed Sherlock up against the wall. John kissed his neck, teeth nipping at the skin until the taller man bent his head and John could press his lips to Sherlock’s. Their breaths mingled, mouths opening, tasting each other. 

It wasn’t the first time they’d kissed. It wasn’t even the first time that the endorphin rush of a case had left them weak-kneed and panting just inside the door. John pulled away after several moments, turning his head to kiss Sherlock’s jawline, and the detective gave a soft moan. 

"You’ve been with someone before," John said, voice halfway between a statement and a question. Sherlock nodded, and put his arms around John’s waist. 

"Been with a man before?" John asked, hands settling on Sherlock’s hips. They were fuller under his palms than he’d anticipated, and his body responded with a twitch. 

"Yes," Sherlock managed, face flushed and eyes too bright. 

"Then why do I have to make every first move?" John growled, and rolled his hips forward so that his growing erection pressed into Sherlock’s thigh. He felt the reaction in the sudden tension through out Sherlock’s body, and kissed at the detective’s neck while the other man made up his mind. "You’re so fucking brilliant," he said, and Sherlock moaned. 

"Come to bed with me," Sherlock said, and took John’s hand and pulled him along to Sherlock’s room. John barely saw the well ordered room with simple decorations; he couldn’t take his eyes off of Sherlock. 

"Do you need me to take the lead here, too?" Sherlock’s fingers played with John’s belt, the little tugs sending insistent jolts of arousal down to John’s hardening cock. 

"I think I can manage mine. Focus on yours." John darted forward to kiss/bite Sherlock’s jawline, and the taller man got him back before stepping back. 

 

John actually had to look down at himself to be sure he was undoing his belt and buttons. His fingers were a little shaky, and every half second’s delay was filling him with frustration. He stripped off his trousers, pulled his jumper over his head, and looked up in time to see Sherlock’s fine clothes pool to the floor in a waterfall of fabric. Sherlock turned, suddenly shy, and John’s eye widened a little. “Oh,” he said. 

Because in his head, when he thought of Sherlock naked (as he’d been doing more and more often since that first explosive kiss had rocked his world and opened his eyes to what attraction really felt like) he’d pictured him almost as inhuman. Pale skin like moonlight contrasting with beautiful dark hair above and below, thin limbs, a tiny waist with a concave space where his stomach should be. Beautiful, and sexy, but spindly. And now…

"John?" Sherlock asked, the arousal in his voice mixed now with something like concern. He hesitated, and then wrapped his arms around himself as if he could hide himself away. He was still slender, and his arms and legs were as thin as they’d appeared, but his middle looked… soft. 

Just soft, just like the body of a man who might not get off the couch for days at a time. John’s eyes followed the curve of a small belly that pooched out just slightly over the band of Sherlock’s pants. He was thicker through the waist than John had thought, a touch rounder. His skin was still as heart stoppingly white, and he looked good, fantastic, but… With 20/20 hindsight John could see the artful tailoring to the clothes he wore, and how hard Sherlock tried to look tall—and thus, thin. 

"John?" Sherlock asked again, and John raised his eyes. 

"Sorry. Sorry, you’re so gorgeous, I…" He stepped forward and wrapped an arm around his waist. His hand settled on a much more ample arse than he’d been expecting, and the arousal was back full force. "I got distracted by how gorgeous you are," he whispered, throaty, and pulled Sherlock against him. That soft middle pressed into him and he moaned as he slipped Sherlock’s pants off and pulled him onto the bed. This was better than he’d hoped. For a moment there was nothing but delicious friction between them; just touching was an issue, skin so hot, sheets so cold thanks to an open window. A window that was still open, and letting cooler air flow over them both. John was surprised that he couldn't see steam rising from their bodies. 

Sherlock was starting to taste of salt as he got more worked up and sweaty; John licked a line down his body, treating it as the canvas with his tongue for the artist's brush. "We didn't discuss--" he paused, hands hovering over Sherlock's erect cock. Who was going to be on top didn't matter, because Sherlock was shaking his head. 

"Not this time. This time just us--" Sherlock slipped his hands down John's sides, and then slid one over the flat plane of his torso and down to tease the cock that was straining. "I don't think we have enough time for that discussion." John swallowed thickly. 

"Not if you keep doing that!" He kissed the other man, sucking his lower lip into his mouth and moaning as Sherlock kept a grip on his cock and translated the pressure of John's lips on his into pulsing squeezes to the doctor's thick cock. For a few minutes they writhed together on the bed, all about touching, shifting, John hovering over the plump man. He pulled himself free before Sherlock could wring an orgasm from him and slid down the other's body, kissing until he reached Sherlock's small tum. "I like this," he growled. He tried not to let his cock drag across the bedspread so he couldn't cum before he was ready. He lapped at Sherlock's stomach, sucking and biting on the flab that he hadn't known was there. Sherlock arched his back, forcing his belly further into John's mouth, and for a few moments they danced along the edge of orgasm. Finally Sherlock came with a short and a heavy spurt, leaving him trembling and spent, but still willing to let John do what he liked. 

"I'd hoped we'd come together," he murmured, and John threw his leg over Sherlock's hips, straddled him, and thrust cleanly along the length of his softening shaft and into the small stomach the detective sport. One, two, three, and John was groaning out his own pleasure until his eyes rolled back. 

"Close enough," he said, when he could speak. "We can plan it better next time."


End file.
